


When Harry was Severus

by suitesamba



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bodyswap, Canon Relationships, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Humor, M/M, Masturbation, Off-screen Relationship(s), Oral Sex, Sexual Humor, Snarry-A-Thon16
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-09
Updated: 2016-05-09
Packaged: 2018-06-05 06:35:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6693394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suitesamba/pseuds/suitesamba
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The year after Voldemort’s defeat, Harry is back at Hogwarts and Snape is back as headmaster. An unfortunate accident during a faculty/student Quidditch match leaves Harry in Snape’s body and Snape in Harry’s. The truce the two had agreed to before the school year started to let bygones be bygones and to give each other as wide a berth as possible is thrown out the window as each learns what exactly fills the other’s days. And nights. </p><p>A story of mistaken identities, secrets revealed, sweet, sweet revenge and a very tidy <i>Nineteen Years Later.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	When Harry was Severus

**Author's Note:**

> Oh wow. Thanks to the prompter for this incredible prompt, to the mods for once again accepting my late entry, to badgerlady for her incredible talent and hard work, and to you for giving this story a go. I had so much fun with it, and hope that you do too.

It was always disconcerting, Snape thought, to awaken from unconsciousness without clear memory of how, specifically, you had landed yourself in the infirmary - again. Limbs sore and stiff, a pounding head, a pressing urge to relieve an overfull bladder - all excellent tells that he’d either been unconscious for quite a while, or that he’d met with some sort of accident that had left him feeling as if he’d been hit with a Bludger.

The hushed voices nearby were yet another piece of evidence, along with the aches and pains, starchy sheets and smell of disinfectant, that he was occupying a bed in the Hogwarts infirmary.

A bed that was decidedly not his comfortable four-poster in his private quarters.

“I’m going to try to wake him again, Minerva. He’s taken quite a hit to the head, but even so, he should have regained consciousness by now.”

That voice, of course, belonged to Poppy. How much time had gone by, anyway?

“I knew that game was a bad idea.”

And that was Minerva. She sounded as testy as ever as she continued, “At least I don’t have to notify his guardians. It’s so nice that he’s considered an adult now.”

Now? At last count, Severus had been a legal adult for more than twenty years.

“And even if he wasn’t, it would fall to Severus to notify them.”

They laughed.

Severus furrowed a brow - figuratively, at least, as he wasn’t currently able to furrow anything. What was this? Severus would have to notify Severus’ guardians? What was this foolishness? It was almost enough to make him open his eyes and snap at them both.

A hand stroked his forehead. “Poor child. The staff is far too old for a competitive Quidditch match. I think Severus needs flying lessons.”

Quidditch! That would explain everything. He took a silent inventory of his appendages, twitching fingers and toes, and found them all present. He’d been playing Beater - he remembered it now. He and Hooch. Faculty against students in a school spirit match-up the Board of Governors had encouraged to try to improve his still shaky reputation. He’d been trying to get a Bludger between Potter and the Snitch when Potter had turned suddenly, hand held triumphantly aloft, and….

Ouch.

“Harry? Dear? Can you hear me?”

Someone took hold of his arm and shook him gently.

Couldn’t they just let him sleep a while longer while they roused Potter?

“Leave me be, Poppy,” he mumbled. 

“That’s Madam Pomfrey to you, dear,” Poppy answered, squeezing his arm, but sounding relieved. “Come, dear. Open your eyes so I can check your pupil dilation.”

Madam Pomfrey? He hadn’t called her that since he was a student.

He opened his eyes, squinting against the light.

The world was out of focus. He recognised a vague flesh-coloured blur that must be Poppy’s face, and another, Minerva’s, hovering behind her. He squeezed his eyes closed again, and even that slight motion made his head pound.

“Can’t see,” he muttered. His voice sounded - well - _off_.

“Ah - your spectacles. Here they are, dear.”

“But -” Spectacles. He didn’t wear spectacles.

But someone slid a pair onto his face, and he opened his eyes to a sharper, more focused world.

“I don’t wear spectacles,” he protested, wincing as his head throbbed with the effort of moving his jaw.

Minerva and Poppy exchanged a worried glance. 

“Of course you do, my boy.” Poppy waved her wand as she performed what he clearly recognised as a diagnostic spell to assess brain function.

“I am not your _boy_.” Severus winced again, raising a hand to press against his head.

That was his intention, at least, but the hand never quite made it to his head. It froze, instead, in front of his face, and he stared at it, mystified, and flexed the fingers, startled when the foreign things actually responded to the command his brain sent them.

“This isn’t my hand.”

The fingers dangling in front of his face were shorter and stouter than his own, stain-free, and the nails were ill-kept. 

Trembling, he touched his nose.

Later, he realised that most people, when touching a perfectly shaped, ordinary-as-pie nose, would not necessarily screech out, in a high-pitched and unfamiliar voice, “My nose! What happened to my nose?!?!”

It wasn’t clear to him yet, when Poppy hit him with a hospital grade relaxation spell that left him temporarily boneless and speechless, that his body was perfectly fine and thoroughly intact, though temporarily in the keeping of one Harry James Potter.

ooOOOoo

Harry, for his part, had awoken two hours before Severus, and was resting and recovering in a private room. There was no mirror in the room, but he had his wand - well, not _his_ wand, actually, but one that worked well enough to perform a reflection spell on the tea tray left on his bedside table. Madam Pomfrey had been in, and Professor McGonagall, one to report on his condition (injuries to his private bits and to his tongue - which he’d bitten straight through - it would be swollen for at least another day) and the other to report that the student involved - Harry Potter - was recovering in the infirmary and, besides a fairly severe concussion, had no other serious injuries.

“Don’t even try to talk, Headmaster. I’ve put a numbing charm on your tongue to help with the pain and you’ll just drool like a baby. And I’m watching that groin injury closely - I assure you the swelling will go down a bit by tomorrow morning, so please don’t panic. It might be best not to look at it just yet.”

After they’d left, and before he’d cast the spell on the tea tray, he’d ignored her advice and had done a fairly exhaustive exploration of the body he now seemed to be inhabiting, though he knew, by the hands alone, to whom it belonged. Biting back a surge of panic, he stared at the long, stained fingers with the meticulously groomed nails, then raised one hand to the neck and traced fingers along the rope-like scars.

_Shit shit shit._

He tried to calm his breathing - slow his (no no no not his … _Snape’s_ ) racing heart. 

_It’s fine. It’s probably just a spell. Some stupid curse._ he told himself. He moved the hand from neck to nose, wincing as he traced it from bridge to tip. He looked around reflexively before raising the hand and tentatively touching Snape’s hair.

It _was_ greasy, but not as greasy as he’d always imagined it. Fine - not at all like his own coarse and messy mop. 

He shifted on the bed, taking a few deep breaths, steeling himself to check out that groin injury Madam Pomfrey had mentioned.

He pushed down the sheet covering his legs. No. Not _his_ legs. His legs didn’t look a thing like these. Damn. He actually smiled. Who knew? Snape had _legs_ underneath those robes. Exceedingly pale, hairy legs with hard, muscular thighs and knobby knees. He glanced at the door, which remained firmly closed, and warily began inching up his hospital-issued nightshirt.

Sweet Merlin Divine!

Swelling. Right. Groin injury. That would explain the bollocks, anyway. How would Snape even _walk_ if he had to tote around bollocks the size of Bludgers wherever he went?

He tried to ignore the swollen bollocks as he stared at Snape’s cock.

Snape’s cock. He was looking at Snape’s _cock_. Despite the fascination Hermione claimed he had for Snape, he’d never before imagined what his cock might look like.

And now he was not only _looking_ at it - he was _touching_ it!

He pulled his hand away as if burned, and quickly pushed the cotton gown down over the exposed genitals. He took a few deep breaths - he hoped Snape’s heart was good and healthy because it was beating as if he’d just fought a Hungarian Horntail blindfolded and with his hands tied. 

He waited another five minutes before cautiously pulling up the gown again.

And there it was again, in all its glory. An ordinary cock, he told himself, not too different to his own, except that it was a good bit larger than any he’d ever seen, and that it rested in a nest of well groomed curls. It was abundantly obvious, even to Harry with his decided lack of experience in these matters, that Snape took some care to keep everything neat and trimmed down south.

He had a sudden desire - no - _more_ than that. He had the sudden _need_ to wank.

Just thinking about it made him sweat. He wiped his hands against the bed sheets, then sank his fingers into the cotton, physically preventing himself from touching Snape’s cock again. Nonetheless, the organ gave an interested twitch. Harry frowned. Had it been his own cock, it would have been at full staff the moment he exposed it to the mild vibration of air in the room, but Snape’s seemed to be taking its good time to wake up and join the party.

Good. That was very, very good. He had an idea that Snape wouldn’t take too kindly to Harry manhandling his cock and enjoying a leisurely wank.

However, the cock in question was beginning to stretch out, gradually creeping onto the thigh on which it rested, hardening slowly but oh so very surely.

Harry quickly closed his eyes and thought of Hagrid naked. 

Thinking about Hagrid usually worked when he had an inconvenient erection, but in this case, his mental eye focused not on Hagrid’s scrambled-egg-laden beard or jiggly stomach but on what most surely had to be a cock the size of a hippogriff’s. Snape’s cock, impressive but no match for this mental image of Hagrid’s, seemed to enjoy the mere idea of Hagrid’s enormous appendage, and grew even larger.

There was nothing for it - he was going to have to masturbate. He picked up the wand again, pointed it at the door, and cast a nonverbal locking spell. 

Well, _that_ worked. Snape’s wand seemed to channel his magic as well as his own did.

Wait. _His_ magic. It was _his_ , wasn’t it? It was his brain, after all, his thoughts and intellect and memories. Only his body had changed, somehow. Into Snape’s. For Merlin’s sake - why Snape? Why couldn’t it change into Ginny’s so he could fondle her breasts and play with her….

Interestingly, thinking of Ginny’s nude body was not doing much for Snape’s libido. His erection wilted and he spent the next few minutes wondering who was in control here - his mind, or Snape’s body.

But with the immediate need for privacy gone, he sent a nonverbal unlocking charm at the door, reversing the previous spell, pulled up the sheet to cover himself, and closed his eyes. He assumed that Snape was now trapped in _his_ body, and figured that as soon as Madam Pomfrey let him out of bed, he’d be in here, wringing Harry’s neck. Harry chuckled. Except that he’d be wringing his _own_ neck, wouldn’t he? 

And that’s when it hit him. Snape. Snape in Harry’s body. Snape had his body! Snape was probably in the infirmary now, inhabiting a perfectly good eighteen-year-old body. Probably demanding to see the headmaster to get his own ink-stained, hairy body with its overly generous helping of _cock_ back.

Shit. Harry closed his eyes - _Snape’s_ eyes - and sighed. Snape had no doubt done a very _thorough_ investigation of the body he was inhabiting. He was probably trying to force his hair into an even black curtain on either side of his face. 

What Snape was actually doing, in fact, unbeknownst to Harry, was attempting to pop an especially troublesome and painful pimple in his right eyebrow.

With Poppy and Minerva gone from the room and the relaxation spell that had kept him immobile finally wearing off, he’d regained some semblance of control over his - damnit, _Potter’s_ \- body parts. He had a sore spot above his eye, and an exploration of the area with fingers that were not at all as nimble as they should be located a painful, slightly oozing lump. He knew he should leave well enough alone - Merlin knew that he’d had _that_ lecture time and again from his dear departed mother - but this was Potter’s face, not his own, and he wanted relief. Besides, what was one more potential scar when one had a lightning bolt branded on one’s forehead already? The pimple wasn’t the only thing on his body that hurt, but it was currently the most annoying.

When he’d finally dispatched the pimple with a most satisfying expulsion of pus, and could focus on something other than the pressure in his face from that teenage plague, he discovered, to his disgust and annoyance, that Potter was also suffering from a severe case of jock itch.

It was a simple locker room fungus, but it required an antifungal potion and the boys were always embarrassed to ask for it, letting the fungus spread until it could only be easily treated by shaving the affected area before applying the cream.

And Severus had an idea. A brilliant idea. He’d get himself and Potter straightened out all right, and reclaim his rightful body - a body that Potter had damn well better be treating with respect - but in the meantime, he’d report the jock itch to Poppy and let her treat it. He would even go so far as to beg her to shave him to get some immediate relief.

A wicked smile spread across his face as he tapped Potter’s wand on the table to call the mediwitch.

ooOOOoo

Just past midnight, thirty minutes after Poppy had made her last rounds for the evening, Severus carefully stood, blinking in the near darkness to focus his eyes behind the unfamiliar glasses. He took two cautious steps toward the closed door, behind which, he knew, Harry Potter was sleeping. Walking was much more difficult than he’d anticipated - not because he was weak still, but because his center of balance was all off. Potter had shorter legs and a longer torso than he did, but he soon adjusted to the strange sensation of making someone else’s body move with his own brain.

He didn’t bother knocking on the door, but turned the knob quietly and slipped inside without lighting his wand. His eyes, already semi-accustomed to the darkness, moved immediately to the bed where he - no, _Potter_ \- was sleeping.

He frowned. Most likely sleeping, anyway, curled up into a ball with covers pulled up nearly over his head.

Severus Snape did not sleep in a foetal position.

He quickly strode to the bed and shook Potter by the shoulder.

An exceedingly bony, angular shoulder.

He recoiled, surprised, then stepped back, folded his arms and glared.

Potter, opening his (yes, _his_ ) eyes and getting his first look at his body in possession of the headmaster’s brain, was a spectacle Snape would never forget. The flabbergasted face, the thrashing of limbs, the tangle of sheets. Potter rolled sharply to the side, kicking out unsuccessfully to free himself of the bedclothes, and promptly fell off the bed on the side opposite Snape, then jumped to his feet, managing to both sway and cower at the same time as he clutched blindly at his groin.

They stared at each other, Potter in Snape’s body panting, Snape in Potter’s body glaring, until Snape unfolded his arms, pointed to the bed and spoke.

“Sit.”

The effect was less commanding than it would have been had he had his own voice, but the tone brooked no argument and Potter dropped onto the bed.

“What have you got to say for yourself?” The voice might be Potter’s, but the tone, and his stance, were pure Snape.

“Bluh.” 

“Bluh? I see that the possession of a sharp tongue makes you no more refined or witty than usual.” He rubbed his eye, forgetting about the glasses, and glared. “Your eyesight is abysmal!” 

“Bluh myug awwfah.” 

The boy inhabiting his body then opened his mouth and pointed to his tongue. His grossly swollen tongue. 

“Ah. I see. You’ve maimed my tongue. If it stays that way, I’ll be exchanging mine for yours and you can keep the one you damaged!”

He had to work hard to hide his reaction to the odd experience of seeming to observe himself from outside his own body. He _was_ , in fact, outside his own body, but he wasn’t exactly observing _himself_.

Potter folded his arms and sulked. It was not a becoming look on Severus Snape.

“Alright - enough of these pleasantries. I will sort out this - situation - as soon as we are out of the infirmary. I will need your memory of the moments before our collision, and of the collision itself. I suspect our magicks somehow collided and merged, but am not ruling out subterfuge from without. In the meantime, no one is to know! I will not subject my body, in your tender care, to the Gryffindor dormitories, nor do I want to be made the laughing stock of the faculty, of Slytherin House and of the general Wizarding community, especially given the number of Howlers I already receive. My position within the Hogwarts community and the magical world at large is precarious enough as it is - to be accused of hijacking the body of the Boy Who Lived to Live Again… Well, you can imagine how that would turn out.”

On the bed, his body was nodding its head.

“Furthermore…” Snape narrowed his bright green eyes. It must have been a frightening look and Harry’s mouth dropped open and he leaned back on his bony elbows. “Furthermore - you will not explore my body or touch any part you would not touch in front of Professor McGonagall. Understood?”

Harry nodded Severus’ head. Severus didn’t trust Harry Potter, but it was much easier, he found, to trust his own countenance.

“The password to my office is ‘Dunderhead.’ You will go there directly after being released and I will join you there promptly to examine your memories. You will not open drawers or cabinets, converse with the headmasters’ portraits, or touch anything. Anything!”

Potter nearly fell backward off the bed - again.

“Bwawoo!” he protested, blushing, cheeks glowing with bright spots of colour. He gestured at his midsection vaguely then looked helplessly at Snape. “Ha’hm spose yuse ta bwawoo?’

He looked pathetic. Snape used Harry’s eyes like pointy daggers.

“You will sit! You will use magic for necessary hygienic purposes. You WILL NOT TOUCH any part of my body!”

Harry in Snape’s body was apparently becoming climatised to the verbal assault. He worked his mouth, apparently trying to limber it up to produce an intelligible sound through the swelling and numbness. 

“Shure?”

Snape in Harry’s body frowned. 

Harry mimed washing his underarms.

“Shower.” Snape frowned again. His body could certainly survive a few days without showering if it meant Potter wouldn’t have his grubby hands all over him. He, of course, would keep Harry’s body squeaky clean. He abhorred perspiration, and Potter was bound to produce it in spades. “I hope bathing will not be necessary. I shall have this sorted before you need to wash.”

Harry sighed. 

“My office, as soon as you are released. You will provide the memory, and I will give you further instructions regarding your deportment, as well as on how you will treat my body. I, in turn, will treat yours with the care and respect it is due.”

He had every intention, of course, of having a wank while he had a body with a teenage refractory time. Several wanks, in fact. Several dozen.

He left his body in care of Potter, looking perfectly miserable, and returned to the ward to wait out the night and to have, perhaps, if all was quiet enough, that first wank.

ooOOOoo

After a restless night spent on pins and needles, expecting the door to his private room to open at any time to the terrifying sight of Headmaster Snape commandeering his body, Harry Potter was having a much more pleasant and entertaining morning.

Madam Pomfrey checked him over quite thoroughly after breakfast, not hesitating in her examination of his injured groin. His brain was able to easily detach itself from the process, putting aside the embarrassment he’d have surely felt had she been manipulating his own scrotum. After all, she had her wandering fingers on Snape’s tackle, not his own. It was Snape who should be embarrassed, not Harry.

“Much better, Headmaster,” she pronounced, side-eying him as Snape’s cock began to plump as she completed her examination.

Harry gave what he hoped was an uninterested hmph.

“Mind you - you’re to be exceedingly careful for the next few days. I’d like to say no sexual activity of any kind, including masturbation - holding off for a week would allow the swelling to completely recede. However….” She paused, clearly torn.

“However?” Harry said, expertly raising an eyebrow, happy that he’d formed the word correctly, as the numbing charm had only recently been removed.

“However, I’m afraid that you’re going to have to encourage an ejaculation or two, to get everything moving again.” She nodded, obviously deciding this route was best. “Yes - wait until tomorrow, and do be gentle, Severus. Do the job - your goal is ejaculation, after all - but gently….gently. No excessive jerking and definitely no penetrative sex.” She whispered this last word but held his gaze to make sure he understood.

Harry very nearly sputtered, and kept his mouth closed only with a good deal of effort. Wanking orders! He had wanking orders from Madam Pomfrey! And orders not to - . What the hell? He wondered if Snape slept in a giant four-poster, and if he made his own lubricant. He then considered how he could possibly wank without touching himself. If he didn’t wank, would Snape’s system back up? Would his bollocks grow even larger? 

“Severus? A word of agreement would be helpful.”

He’d practiced a few phrases after she’d removed the numbing charm, uttering, “You complete and absolute dunderhead!” then trying, “Enough of that foolish wand waving!” and finally, in an especially silky voice, “I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death.”

Unfortunately, none of those phrases applied here.

“Righ - . I mean - yes, Madam...Poppy.” He tried to manipulate his face into a disapproving scowl. It must have worked, because the suspicious look fell away from Madam Pomfrey’s face. “Er - what if I don’t?”

Oops. That suspicious look came right back again.

Harry coughed, as if something caught in his throat had made him utter something a student - and definitely not a headmaster - might say.

“What are the potential consequences of not following your...er...instructions?” he corrected.

“Impotency.” She mounted her hands on her hips and stared him down until he looked away.

“Why don’t you call Serafina and have her bring your clothes so you can get back to your quarters? Please do take it easy today, Headmaster, and avoid lacing up too tightly - give the boys room to breathe.”

Harry nodded, hoping he didn’t look too gobsmacked.

“Oh - measurements. We’ll need a baseline for comparison.”

A magic tape measure- similar to the one Ollivander had used all those years ago when he bought his wand - snaked out of her pocket as Madam Pomfrey pushed up his gown.

“Spread your legs a bit, Headmaster. Give it room to work.” 

Harry grunted, then spread Snape’s legs rather obscenely, hoping he looked disgruntled. Madam Pomfrey narrowed her eyes, but Harry ignored her in favour of watching the tape measure wrap firmly around one over-sized bollock, then slide off - almost pleasantly - before repeating on the other side. Finally, the charmed tape wrapped around Snape’s cock, which gave an interested little jerk.

Madam Pomfrey was frowning at him when he looked up at her as the tape slid off.

“That last measurement won’t be entirely accurate,” she warned, eying the no-longer-flaccid penis. “But it will have to do.” She glared at his crotch area in general as he pulled his nightshirt back down and patted it over his middle. “Now - call Serafina and get out of my infirmary. You’re free to go.”

There it was again - Serafina. Who the _hell_ was Serafina and why in Merlin’s name did she have Snape’s clothes?

“And by the way, I’ve released Potter. Odd - he didn’t seem too eager to leave. I think he’s worried about you, Headmaster.”

Madam Pomfrey left the room, closing the door behind her.

Harry waited a minute to be sure she was really gone for good, then reached Snape’s wand on the bedside table.

He wasn’t the most accomplished wizard when it came to transfiguration - he’d always had Hermione around for the more demanding tasks. But making robes from a hospital gown was not outside his skillset, and it was far better than sneaking back to his quarters in an infirmary-issued nightshirt. And what if this Serafina was waiting there for him? Merlin’s mustache - could Snape possibly have a girlfriend?

His first attempt at transforming his nightshirt into a passable set of robes wasn’t a total failure, but he had to do the spell three times before he felt presentable enough to leave the room. He thought that Snape would have preferred trousers beneath his robes - or at the very least, pants - but there was nothing for it. Probably best to give the equipment some breathing room anyway, given the nature of the injury. 

He opened the door that led to the main ward of the infirmary, and headed directly for the exit.

“Good morning, Headmaster.”

He paused at the voice and turned his head. It had a particular sultry tone to it, low and inviting.

The girl - a seventh year Slytherin whose name he couldn’t recall - beamed at him from a cocoon of covers. 

“Oh - Headmaster. We were all so worried about you. They let Potter out an hour ago - the boys bribed Peeves to lob a slug-slime balloon at him. Good payback, and no permanent damage, just like you instructed.”

Harry’s brain tried to keep Snape’s mouth from dropping open. No permanent damage? What the hell was Snape up to? And slug-slime? That stuff was impossible to get out of your hair! You ended up having to do about a hundred Scourgifies and your hair felt like straw for a week afterward.

He and Snape had a truce! They’d agreed - this past summer when Harry had been summoned to the castle to meet with Snape when it became clear he’d recovered enough to resume his duties as headmaster - that they’d begin the year as they meant to go on. They’d give each other as wide a berth as possible. Harry didn’t know, of course, that Snape had decided to let the Boy-Who-Lived live a bit. 

And he didn’t know that Snape was actually looking out for him when he’d convinced his Slytherins to take it easy on him. 

And, not knowing any of this, and assuming all truces were nullified, Harry’s brain finally caught up with the unique opportunity in front of him. 

So Snape was sanctioning Gryffindor abuse by Slytherins. Well, paybacks were hell, weren’t they?

“Very good, very good,” he said, rubbing his hands together in the type of gesture he imagined a man like Snape would make, though he’d never actually seen him make it. He gave her a sultry smile - well, he hoped it was sultry. He had no idea how one made bedroom eyes with Snape’s face. “I do hope you recover quickly - I’d be very happy to assist you with some private lessons to help you catch up as an expression of my gratitude.”

He emphasised the word private, and received a blushing smile in return. 

Ha! Let Snape deal with that one! Harry thought as he headed to the corridor. He turned automatically toward Gryffindor Tower and only reset his course when Professor McGonagall passed him.

“Severus - where are you going? If you make any more of my Gryffindor first-years wet their pants I’ll have you helping the house-elves with the laundry!”

Whoa! Severus’ eyes widened comically - Harry was pretty sure they’d never been on the right side of half mast before from the way it made his eyeballs hurt. Professor McGonagall had _balls_!

He tried to grumble, but ended up with a mumbled, “Yes, Professor Mc - uh - Minerva,” as he reversed course and hurried toward the gargoyles which marked Snape’s office entrance.

Fortunately, he remembered the password - Dunderhead. 

But before he said it - he remembered that the truce was off.

_Paybacks._

“Password change,” he said to the gargoyle in the most authoritative, irritated Snape-voice he could muster. “Voldemort.”

The gargoyle cocked its stone head and blinked. 

Harry stared back at it then folded his arms in front of his chest and glared.

The stone creature shrugged - it actually _shrugged_ \- then stepped aside to let him pass.

Ha! Harry stepped on the staircase and rode upward to face his doom. No one wanted to say “Voldemort,” not even months after his ultimate demise, not even Snape. He’d see just who could get into the headmaster’s office now.

ooOOOOoo

Snape was waiting for him when he opened the office door.

He’d once had the decidedly odd experience of having seven people Polyjuiced into him at the same time. He’d suffered the indignity of watching them strip their clothes off _his_ body. At the time, Fleur had given Bill a sappy look that he vowed would never, ever appear on his face again.

The look on his face now - across the room and behind Snape’s desk with his normally messy hair slicked against his scalp with a thick layer of slug slime - was far, far worse.

“Sit.”

Harry sidled over to the desk in half a sulk. Snape wasn’t even supposed to be here yet. He’d told Harry to go in and wait for _him_. No matter how much Harry wanted to know just exactly how Snape had managed to survive Nagini, he’d made a point of avoiding this office this year - he’d spent quite enough time in it when Dumbledore was headmaster.

The Pensieve was already sitting on the desk between them. Snape - the one that looked remarkably like Harry - held out his hand. Harry knew his eyes had never, ever looked so menacing.

“My wand.”

He scooted the familiar holly wand toward Harry as Harry passed him the wand he’d used to transform his hospital nightshirt into severe black robes.

Snape took the wand and held it to Harry’s temple.

“Give it up, Potter.”

Harry sighed. He avoided looking at Snape - looking across at himself was simply creepy - while he called up the memory of catching the Snitch in the student/faculty game the day before. He had it - almost - almost - and _yes!_ Hand held up, banking to show it to his team, looking back for Ginny, then ….then….the flash of black whipping in the wind like a dementor-gone-rogue, Hooch’s large, bouncing breasts nearly in his face. Panic - panic - then the snarl of surprise on Snape’s face, his nose, his fathomless black eyes and….

Pain. Vision fading out.

Nothing.

When he opened his eyes, the memory was dangling from the end of Snape’s wand and Snape was dropping it unceremoniously into the Pensieve.

“I’ve examined my own memory of the accident while you dawdled in the corridors,” he said, glancing at Harry as he stirred the contents of the stone basin. “I have a theory, but will reserve my explanation until after I compare my recall to your own.”

He began to dip downward toward the surface of the Pensieve, but paused mid-dip to stare at Harry. “Do not move from that spot,” he warned.

Harry nodded, biting his bottom lip to keep himself from making a sarcastic retort.

“And stop abusing my lip,” snarled Snape. The snarl sounded almost friendly in Harry’s-voice.

“Right.” The lip popped out with a satisfying smack. 

As soon as Snape’s nose touched the surface of the memory, Albus Dumbledore, who had, it turned out, only been pretending to sleep, spoke up.

“Well, Harry my boy, you’ve certainly put Severus in a spin this time.”

Harry jerked his head toward the portrait, alarmed.

“Calm down, calm down. He’ll be down there for five minutes, looking at the memory from every possible angle.” Dumbledore smiled warmly. “Now, tell me. How are you planning to take advantage of this situation in the presumably short time you’ll occupy Severus’ body?”

Harry couldn’t help but grin. He leaned in.

“He’s got a groin injury,” he confided, wincing a bit as his nether regions moved on the leather chair. “Madam Pomfrey has ordered him to _wank_. Says that if he doesn’t he could be permanently impotent.” He glanced over at what appeared to be himself with his face in the Pensieve. “I haven’t told him yet.”

“Oh, very good!” Dumbledore clapped his hands together, and Harry realised he’d just discussed wanking with his former headmaster. Somehow, it wasn’t so embarrassing when coming out of Severus Snape’s mouth instead of his own.

“He’s not very fond of Sybil Trelawney,” Dumbledore continued. “Though she is of him.” He winked at Harry, and Harry grinned. “I think he quite prefers Professor Ivanhoe.”

And before Harry had any time to consider Dumbledore’s statement, Snape popped up from the Pensieve without warning, and Harry quickly leaned back in his chair and folded his hands.

Harry’s Snape-controlled face looked as though he’d swallowed a very large and bitter-tasting toad.

“Young people,” he groused. He narrowed his gaze. “Had you not taken those precious few seconds to stare at Professor Hooch’s _breasts_ we might not be in this predicament!”

“Hey! How could I _not_ look at them? They’re so…so….”

He trailed off, as watching himself glare at … himself … was quite disconcerting. 

“Are you finished?” Snape asked in Harry’s voice, drawing it out in an oily sneer. “Good. Now, Potter - listen, and listen well. _Legilimency._ ”

“Legilimency,” repeated Harry. He frowned. “What about it?”

“Legilimency,” repeated Snape, stressing the second syllable, “is both the reason we are in this predicament, as well as the way we will escape it.”

“What do you - ?” Harry trailed off - yet again - silenced by the murderous look in his - Snape’s - eyes.

“We locked eyes just before impact,” Snape stated. How the _hell_ did he do that to Harry’s voice? “It was obvious in both my memory and your own. I can only surmise there was a connection - inadvertent, of course, but still present. That, with the resultant collision, must have caused the transference.” 

“So you can undo it? Now?” Harry tried not to sound too pathetically hopeful. 

“Is it so repugnant inhabiting the body of an old man, Potter?” snapped Snape.

“Well, I’ve got orders from Madam Pomfrey to wank every day for a week to make sure your tackle is working so you don’t become impotent!” Harry snapped back. “And since I’ve been ordered not to _touch_ anything, you might want to get back in your own body so you can do the job yourself!”

Harry had the pleasure of seeing the other Harry’s mouth drop open.

“Do not toy with me, Potter,” drawled Snape. He planted both hands on his desk and leaned forward.

“I’m not toying with you,” Harry said. “I want my body back just as much as you want me out of yours. And I’m not kidding about the wanking thing - apparently you...uh...sustained...a serious groin injury. I mean - I don’t know what they look like normally - of course I don’t - how _would_ I? - but if you have to carry these bollocks around with you every day then I can understand why you’re so irritable all the time.”

He slapped his hand against his mouth to stop himself from saying anything else. As it was, he was going to be in detention for a month.

“Detention, Potter,” Snape drawled. 

Harry rolled his eyes. Or rolled Snape’s eyes. In either case, it didn’t go unnoticed by the headmaster.

“Double detention,” he amended. He stood and walked around the desk, glaring at Harry the entire time. When he stopped beside Harry, Harry almost giggled. The headmaster looked a lot less imposing and frightening in his body.

“Robes up,” commanded said headmaster. “Let me see the damage.”

“Um - alright.”

Somehow, it wasn’t at all humiliating exposing himself to the headmaster under the current conditions. He spread his legs and unceremoniously hiked his transfigured robes up, exposing the gargantuan bollocks, now resting more or less comfortably on the chair between his thighs.

Snape hissed. He reached forward with his hand, then dropped it quickly to his side. “I must say, Potter, that this is the first time since I woke up in the infirmary that I am relieved you are in possession of my body.”

“So, they’re not normally this big?” asked Harry, rolling Snape’s skinny arse cheeks on the chair a bit to give the bollocks more breathing room.

“No, of course they’re not normally that big! Who do you think I am? Hagrid?”

Harry jerked his head up from his examination of his temporary tackle. “How big are his?” he asked. “Have you actually seen them?”

“Potter!”

Harry jumped and hastily dropped his robes.

“Pull them up again,” ordered Snape.

Harry, reluctantly this time, hiked the robes back up again. Snape stared a bit longer at his own balls and cock, then folded his arms across his chest and glared up at Harry.

“And where, pray tell, Mr. Potter, are my _pants_?”

“I wasn’t sure if you wore them - you know - traditional wizard and all that….”

“Potter….”

“Alright, alright! I had to transfigure the robes from the hospital pajamas. I didn’t even try the pants or trousers - your wand didn’t work right and I didn’t want to risk … um …. suffocating your bollocks.”

Snape stared.

“Surely Poppy suggested that you summon Serafina for my clothing?” he said at last.

Summon?

Oh, shit. Of course. Of course! Serafina was Snape’s _house-elf!_

“She told me to call Serafina! I had no idea who she was. I thought she might be your girlfriend and I didn’t want her - well - kissing all over me or something.”

“If you’re not careful, I’ll have her _wanking_ you if you’re not back in your own body before tomorrow!” Snape threatened. He seemed to get hold of himself then, and stormed over to a door in the wall beside the bookshelves. “Follow me, Potter,” he growled.

Twenty minutes later, Harry sat in a hard leather chair in Snape’s quarters upstairs, wearing pants, trousers, vest, waistcoat and robes. He’d had to button up what felt like several hundred buttons. Even the pants - form-fitting black boxers - had a row of small buttons and several laces.

“I cannot risk attempting Legilimency so soon after suffering a concussion,” Snape said, passing a mug of tea to Harry and pouring a generous measure of Firewhisky for himself. “We shall have to wait until tomorrow afternoon at least.”

“But tomorrow is Monday,” protested Harry. “I have classes - I can’t show up to Transfiguration like this!” He indicated - with obvious dismay - his black-clad, buttoned-up body.

“You will remain in these quarters until we have this matter sorted out. I will attend your classes tomorrow, and Tuesday as well if we are still in this - predicament.” He crossed his arms and glared at Harry.

“Stop that. You’re going to wear my eyes out,” Harry groused.

“I will ignore that comment - for now.” Snape sighed and rubbed his forehead. “I - I know this cannot be easy for you, either.” He adjusted the glasses on his nose with a frown. “Your vision is abysmal. How you manage to play Quidditch….”

“I manage fine.” Harry watched as Snape downed the remaining Firewhisky. “You know - my body’s not really used to that stuff.”

Snape hiccoughed and wiped his mouth.

“What are we doing the rest of today?” Harry asked, glancing at the door. “My friends are going to wonder where I am.”

“ _You_ are staying here. You may work on your homework - I believe Professor Slughorn set his eighth years a three-foot essay on Friday?”

He pulled a textbook from a case on the wall, plopped it unceremoniously on a work table, then added quill, ink and parchment.

“ Hey - where are you going?” asked Harry, a bit desperately, as Snape headed toward the door.

“To the Gryffindor common room to fetch spare clothing and your schoolbooks. Then to the restricted section to research our predicament.” He opened a desk drawer and riffled through some papers, then dropped a form down in front of Harry. 

“Your signature, please,” he demanded.

Harry sighed and signed the form.

“No, you moronic excuse for a wizard! I will not get one centimeter past Madam Pince with a form signed HARRY POTTER!”

He pointed his wand at the paper and the signature disappeared. 

“Oh - right. Sorry.” Harry took the form and this time signed, “Severus Snape” with a flourish, taking care not to drop too many inkblots on the parchment.

“This does not look like my signature,” Snape said, studying the form with interest. He used his wand to erase the signature once more, and this time signed, “Severus Snape” himself. He studied the result, then pocketed the parchment with a muttered comment about muscle memory.

“Look - don’t talk to my friends, right?” Harry begged. “Maybe you could have a relapse and spend the night in the infirmary again.” He smiled nervously. “You’ll never get any sleep up in Gryffindor Tower - Ron snores like a freight train and Dean talks in his sleep.”

“I will consider myself warned, Mr. Potter.” Snape stood, looking so much less impressive in Harry’s body. “I will check on you in several hours. I am confident you will keep yourself busy with that essay.”

Harry sighed. “Who assigns a three-foot essay, anyway?” he grumbled.

Snape shot him a look that could generously be called “unkind” and left the room, sucking most of the air out with him when he left. Harry fell back onto the sofa and glanced at the textbook.

There was no way he was going to write that essay today. Besides, his balls hurt.

He glanced back at the door, then unbuttoned a dozen buttons, leaving the horrible, restrictive waistcoat half open. He kicked off Snape’s stiff boots, leaned back on the sofa, tucked his hand into the waistband of his trousers, and promptly fell asleep.

ooOOOOoo

In all his years as a professor at Hogwarts, and in his short tenure as headmaster, Severus Snape had never kissed a student.

Had never, in fact, thought about kissing one. Had never had the most remote inclination to do so.

So, fifteen minutes later, when he entered the Gryffindor common room and found himself with his arms full of Ginny Weasley and her tongue greedily exploring his tonsils, it took his brain several moments to kick in and kiss back.

Kissing her, he knew, was important to maintain the deception. He also knew, almost immediately, by the quality of her kissing, and the hand that was wandering about his arse, that this student was doing a whole lot more than snogging in her off hours.

“Get a room!” someone yelled. Someone else wolf-whistled and a group of first years giggled.  
Weasley glared, then pulled Severus by the hand and started to drag him over to the stairway to the boys’ dorms. But Granger and Ronald Weasley blocked their way.

He’d never again be as grateful to see that particular couple.

“How are you feeling, Harry?” Granger asked as she enveloped Potter’s body in the kind of hug that said _I like you because you’re my best friend but also a sexually mature man of my age to whom I’m immensely attracted._ “I’m so glad you’re alright. I was so worried!” Her well-rounded breasts pressed against his chest tightly, curing him of any arousal he might have felt had surprise stud Neville Longbottom been hugging him instead of curvy, soft Hermione Granger.

“Git off ‘im,” grumbled Ron Weasley and, when Granger stepped away, Weasley gave him a one-armed man hug, mostly about the neck, and a tad on the left side of friendly. “Did Pomfrey ground you? Can you practice tomorrow?”

“I’m grounded all week,” he said. He tried to sound unhappy. This definitely made the Weasleys unhappy, though Granger gave a satisfied smile.

“I bet Snape had something to do with that. We’re up against Slytherin next.”

“Oh, yes. Professor Snape probably ploughed into me intentionally, too,” he said, trying to sound irritated. 

They all stared at him.

“Gee, mate. That didn’t sound like you. Did your brain get scrambled out there? Maybe some of Snape’s got driven into your head?”

He forced a laugh. “No - did that on purpose. I’ve been practicing standing behind tapestries in the corridors scaring firsties.”

No one seemed to take him too seriously, and he was able to escape a few minutes later with his books after he allowed Ginny Weasley to lead him into his bedroom. She more or less threw him on Potter’s bed and straddled him first, but he was able to escape with only a bit of snogging and a few gropes after feigning residual effects of the concussion. 

Apparently, she wasn’t at all interested in studying with him at the library. Not that he’d asked her, of course.

Free at last, he had the unfortunate luck to encounter Draco Malfoy as he took a shortcut through a hidden passageway. It happened to be a passageway known only to Slytherin House. He _thought_ that was why Malfoy was so incensed. 

He was wrong.

“Potter!” hissed Malfoy, grabbing him by the arm above the elbow. “I told you to _never_ come here without me! Someone will see you, you dolt!”

Snape had no idea how to respond as Malfoy grabbed the front of his robes and pushed him against the wall.

“Moron! Idiot! Wanker!”

He really should be fighting back but this was so … unexpected. Not to mention mildly arousing.

Mildly?

Malfoy’s face broke into a wide grin and he leaned in and kissed him. Hard. On the lips. 

The kiss was accompanied by the most pleasant grind of hips before Malfoy pulled away with a satisfying smack.

“I had you going there, didn’t I?” he said, reaching out to straighten Snape’s tie. “Glad you’re back on your feet - Snape’s going to be in a snit, you know. I have it on good authority he was clutching his groin when they carried him off the field.”

“Oh, great,” he muttered, managing to look alarmed.

“I have to run - regular time on Friday, right? And don’t let anyone see you.”

He left, swaggering as usual, and Snape sank down against the wall, willing away his erection.

My oh my. Harry Potter was full of surprises, wasn’t he? It looked as if he was playing for _all_ of the teams. Making up for lost time, perhaps? For a few overly stressful years at school? 

Interesting. Very interesting indeed.

Severus stood, dusted off his robes, re-straightened the repulsive Gryffindor tie, and made his way - as stealthily as possible - to the library.

ooOOOOoo

Harry was bored.

To rephrase that statement, Harry was _extremely_ bored.

He’d woken up after a mere thirty-minute nap to a pair of aching balls and an over-full bladder. He’d stumbled around until he found the loo, then settled back on the chair to work on his essay, and had finished an outline and perhaps a foot of parchment. Hermione had taught him the outlining technique, and he used it because it actually made the writing part easier. He hated to admit it, but she’d been so helpful lately, and seemed earnestly interested in making sure he got through this last year when his mind was certainly not on his studies. And why would it be? This was his first - and last - year at Hogwarts as a potentially carefree kid. He deserved it, damn it.

He sat on the chair where Severus had left him for quite a spell while he worked on his essay, then moved to the sofa and picked up a magazine. 

Potions. Yuck.

His stomach rumbled, so he called Serafina, who popped in and looked at him rather suspiciously when he requested fried chicken and treacle tart.

“And butterbeer,” he added just before she popped away.

“Butterbeer?” she repeated in a high-pitched, tremulous voice.

He decided to push his luck. “Yes. And smashed potatoes. I’ve just been released from the infirmary and I’m starving.”

Snape would probably have said ‘famished,’ he thought after she shook her head until her ears flopped around, muttering something unintelligible, then disappeared with a snap of her fingers.

He made short work of the food when it appeared, then stretched out on the sofa, planning to nap away the afternoon, when a pounding far below and a voice calling for the headmaster pulled him out of his post-meal digestive coma.

He sat up and stared at the door that led to the office, as if it would give him some clue. But when the knocking didn’t end, he stood and tentatively made his way downstairs, wishing that his own body had the groin injury instead of Snape’s.

“Severus! Let me in. You’ve changed the password again! I know you’re in there, and I’m going to make a commotion until you open this door!”

Harry frowned. Who was that? The voice was only vaguely familiar. 

“Professor Ivanhoe,” supplied Dumbledore’s portrait. “Potions professor for the pre-O.W.L. classes. You should let him in. Severus always does.”

Harry glanced suspiciously at the portrait, noting that the Dumbledore’s painted eyes appeared to be twinkling.

Well, what was the harm of it? He’d explain that he was supposed to be resting and send the professor on his way. He inched open the office door and called down to the gargoyle.

“Let him in.”

He then went back into the office and practiced looking stern and irritated. The irritated bit wasn’t difficult at all, with the way his boy bits were aching.

“Oh, Severus. I’ve been so worried. Poppy wouldn’t let me near you! How are you feeling?”  
Harry winced as Professor Hampton Ivanhoe placed his hands on his shoulders and brushed each cheek with a kiss.

“Severus, we’re still friends, aren’t we?” the young professor mewled directly into Harry’s ear. “I understand that you aren’t interested in a serious relationship while we’re professional colleagues, but I’m still concerned. I was worried to death when they took you off the pitch on the stretcher, with you clutching your tackle like a man condemned to castration by guillotine.”

Harry winced. He couldn’t help it. His cock twinged in sympathy. He had no idea how to respond to this overture- but was pretty sure that Snape wouldn’t allow any intimacies he’d denied so far. 

Nonetheless, perhaps because he was irritated at being locked up in Snape’s office on a perfectly fine Sunday, or perhaps because Ivanhoe reminded him of Draco, Harry didn’t turn away when Ivanhoe carded his fingers through his hair and pulled his head in for a kiss.

In hindsight, he probably shouldn’t have responded with so much tongue. 

He pulled away from the kiss when his cock surged and his balls tightened, causing him to wince. He managed to get rid of Ivanhoe without much trouble by telling him his bollocks were swollen up to the size of cantaloupes and he needed to go check in with Poppy.

He’d settled back on the sofa and was licking the treacle off the pudding plate when another loud argument far below broke out. He recognised his own voice immediately, and began to have second thoughts about having changed the password earlier.

By the time he made it down to the office, another voice had joined Potter’s.

Great. Professor McGonagall. _Minerva_ he told himself as he opened the door to peer down.

Professor McGonagall was standing directly behind himself - _Snape_ \- who looked like he had just chewed up a mouthful of nails and ash.

“The password, Severus,” McGonagall demanded.

“Oh, just let them in,” Harry called down to the gargoyle. 

Soon, they were both on the spiral staircase, approaching his office, McGonagall with her arms folded in front of her and Snape managing to make Harry’s usually pleasant face look like he’d swallowed a thundercloud.

“Severus. There you are. Mr. Potter seems desperate to see you. I have already taken twenty points from Gryffindor for his behavior. Kicking the gargoyle, for goodness’ sake! It’s a wonder you haven’t broken your toes, Mr. Potter.”

“Who says I haven’t?” grumbled Snape. 

McGonagall reached forward and grabbed hold of his shoulder with her iron grip of death. Harry inwardly winced for Snape.

“I will handle Mr. Potter from here, Pro - Minerva. Thank you very much.”

“Very well. Though I’ll need to speak with you later, Severus.” She stared at Harry sternly. “I expect you to clear this up with the headmaster, then return to your quarters or to the library. You’ve spent most of the weekend on the Quidditch pitch and in the infirmary - I understand you have several feet of essay due tomorrow.”

“Of course,” snapped Harry. “I’ll get right on it, I mean. Professor. Thank you. And thank you for taking points from Gryffindor. I deserved it for making a scene downstairs. And I deserve the toenail I tore off kicking the gargoyle.”

Harry winced again, and stopped feeling guilty for letting Professor Ivanhoe kiss him.

McGonagall’s eyes narrowed, but she gave Harry just one more warning look, then left the way she’d come.

“The password?” demanded Snape, pushing Harry’s glasses up as they slid down his nose. “You changed my password? Did you think that was _funny_?”

“Actually, yes,” admitted Harry. “But at least it prevented Professor Ivanhoe from coming up here and throwing himself at you!”

Snape froze, his expression icy.

“I let him in, though,” Harry continued, knowing he was dead anyway. “He was making more noise out there than you were. I think he wants to change the status of your relationship to friends _with benefits._ ”

The look on Harry’s face - the one currently controlled by Snape’s brain - was murderous.

“Draco Malfoy ambushed me in a secret passageway,” he countered, speaking slowly and deliberately. “I take it that’s not the first time he’s had his tongue down your throat?”

Fuck.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I….”

“Granger have a secret crush on you too?”

Double fuck.

“Look - you have no right! You’re … you’re….you’re a professor! You can’t go….go….” Harry sputtered. “Fifty points to Gryffindor!” he shouted.

“One hundred points to Slytherin!” shouted Snape.

Harry grinned. “Too bad students can’t give house points, eh?”

Snape appeared to take several calming breaths. Apparently, he was about to try a new tactic.

“You are aware, are you not, that once I am back in my own body, I can undo anything you do while you have possession of it?”

Harry frowned. “Did you kiss Ginny too?”

“No.”

‘I don’t believe you.”

“She, however, kissed me. Then dragged me into your room, tossed me on the bed and _fondled_ me before I could get my wits about me and end the assault.”

“Oh, great,” Harry moaned.

“Miss Granger hugged me so tightly her breasts nearly drilled through my sternum.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, sympathetically. “She’s pretty intense.”

“Mr. Potter - I am sure you understand that we must get this sorted as soon as possible.”’

“Look - I want my body back, too! But you said you wanted to wait ‘til tomorrow. You said you shouldn’t do Legilimency with a concussion!”

“I’m willing to risk it,” Snape snapped. “Potter - look at me!”

Harry turned his head and stared into his own eyes. Merlin sweet Merlin - he had the most _beautiful_ eyes! He was so enthralled that he almost missed Snape muttering “Legilimens!”

Seconds later, Snape-as-Harry had been hurled back several feet, landing flat on his back and staring at the ceiling.

“Idiot!” he exclaimed, getting to his feet and holding his head. “You aren’t supposed to _block_ me! This isn’t Occlumency practice, Potter. I need to be _inside_ your head to sort us back where we belong!”

“I didn’t! I mean - I didn’t do anything. Not on purpose, anyway.” Harry rubbed his head. He really hadn’t consciously tried to block Snape, but it was just so disconcerting looking into his _own_ eyes. “Try it again,” he suggested. “But you’d better sit down just in case.”

Snape glared at him as he did as asked and settled on one of the marginally comfortable office chairs. “Merlin help me, Potter - if you decided that _this_ is the right time to perfect your Occlumency skills….”

“I told you I didn’t do it on purpose.” Harry sat on the other end of the sofa and rubbed his eyes. This was a nightmare. “I can’t get used to not having glasses,” he murmured. 

“Complaining because you _can_ see now?” Snape asked snarkily. “Legilimens!”

Seconds later, Snape was once again flat on his back, though this time the entire chair fell backward and his feet were in the air. Harry jumped up, tripping over his unfamiliar feet and landing on his arse on the floor.

“I didn’t do it! I swear! There’s something else wrong!”

“What, precisely, is _wrong_?” shouted Snape. He struggled up, hands on his waist, and glared at Harry. “Besides the obvious, of course - that you are lying there on the floor, most likely getting splinters in _my_ arse!”

“I don’t know, but it’s obviously not working! I don’t even feel it when you try Legilimency - even when you surprised me just now. It’s like it’s not penetrating for some reason. Are you sure you can do it when you’re inside someone else’s body?”

“And how, precisely, would I KNOW THAT?” Snape returned.

“You’re twice as old as me. You’re supposed to know these things!”

“Get off the floor. We are going to Hogsmeade.”

Harry didn’t even bother to ask why they were going to Hogsmeade. Getting away from the castle was usually a treat, though the circumstances were currently less than desirable. Nevertheless, he led the way down the spiral staircase and out into the passageway.

They’d made it to the top of the marble staircase and Harry had taken his first step down when a voice behind them stopped them in their tracks.

“Mr. Potter. I’ve been looking for you all over the castle.”

Harry groaned.

McGonagall.

Shit.

He turned around. Snape, too, had stopped, and had turned as well.

“Mr. Potter - you are supposed to be _resting_ , not traipsing around the castle. Have you completed your homework?”

Harry - in Snape’s body - shook his head dumbly while Snape, in Harry’s body, answered as well.

“Not quite - I was working on it when the headmaster asked me to accompany him.”

“Accompany him?” McGonagall laughed. “Mr. Potter, you’ve been spending too much time with Miss Granger, haven’t you?” She took Snape by the arm. “Severus, I’m sure your business with Mr. Potter can wait. Mr. Potter, come with me please.”

Snape glared at Harry, but Harry just nodded dumbly at McGonagall and let her pull Snape down the corridor by his elbow.

Snape was going to _kill_ him.

He waited for McGonagall to disappear, then waited a few more minutes for good measure before making his way cautiously back to the gargoyle, planning to duck inside Snape’s quarters and hide away there until Snape could escape from McGonagall and come back to kill him.

He was nearly home free when he stepped around the final corner and ran head on into Professor Trelawney.

“Oh, Severus! Darling Severus! I’m so relieved to see you in one piece!”

“Um - right. Yes. Yes indeed. One piece. Thank you very much.”

She had backed him into a corner - literally - staring at him through her oversized spectacles, gaze intent, focused on his lips.

He licked them reflexively. She apparently took that as an invitation.

“Have you thought about it, then, Severus?” She placed a surprisingly strong hand on his shoulder and squeezed, then lowered her voice to a sultry whisper. “Have you thought about my offer?”

“Offer?” Harry sputtered as Professor Trelawney’s hand slid over to the back of his neck.

“Oh, Severus, you bad, bad boy.” She fluttered her eyelashes dramatically and slid even closer to him. “I’m going to kiss you and make you forget all about that harlot of a waitress at the Hog’s Head!”

Lips - fragrant, moist lips - came down upon his. As he sputtered in protest, he realised the aroma was actually wine - a good deal of wine. Merlin’s grandmother - Trelawney was _drunk_!

“Professor Trelawney - no. You’re - you’re not in your right mind.”

She was licking his neck - it was a horrible feeling and he shuddered. She must have taken that as a good sign, because she shuddered herself and threw her arms around his neck and wept.

“Professor Trelawney - no - you - you can’t….”

“Sybil! Please, Severus, call me Sybil!” She practically _breathed_ it at him, her voice low and mournful.

Harry managed to pull away from her, but it took a Herculean effort to break free of her limpet-like arms.

“Pro - Sybil. I can’t!” Harry quickly dug around in his brain for something, _anything_... ”There’s...there’s someone else - I’m - I’m already - um - committed! Yes - I’m committed to - to someone. Someone else. Not that waitress.”

Professor Trelawney keened. 

“Who? Who is it Severus?” She flung herself at him again but he caught her by the shoulders and managed to keep her at arm’s length.

“It’s - um - Professor Ivanhoe. Hampton. I - I know it’s a shock, but we’ve - uh - we’ve been together for a month. And he’s jealous - very jealous. I can’t be responsible for what he might do if he finds out that you kissed me. He’s - he’s - um - unstable.”

He didn’t mean to make her cry, but cry she did. The noise and commotion attracted the attention of Madam Pomfrey, who came out of the infirmary to investigate, found them grappling in the corridor, and threw up her hands.

“Sybil - dear - come with me. We’ll get you a nice bed in the infirmary and you can sleep it off.” She glared at Harry. “Severus has had a hard day - groin injury yesterday in Quidditch, remember? He’s touchy. Testicles the size of that crystal ball of yours.” She wrapped her arm around Trelawney’s shoulders. “Off to bed, Headmaster. And remember what I told you - you’ll need to self-stimulate and climax daily starting tomorrow.”

He didn’t know if Professor Trelawney heard her. He could only hope that Severus’ medical orders would be all over the faculty lounge tomorrow.

And honestly, he was only too glad to return to Snape’s quarters.

He stripped down to vest and pants – Merlin, he hated those awful old-fashioned drawstring and button boxers - wrapped himself in a quilt he found neatly folded on a chair, and fell asleep on the sofa without a real evening meal, trying not to think about being permanently trapped as Snape, and fervently praying he’d wake up in his own bed in Gryffindor Tower, pleasantly floating in the normal sounds of morning - Ron and Seamus snoring, Neville getting dressed and trying not to make too much noise, Dean talking in his sleep.

But when he woke early in the morning many hours later - after an unbelievably restful night, considering he was sleeping on Snape’s sofa in Snape’s turn-of-the-century boxers - he was still Harry Potter trapped in Severus Snape’s body, and he was sporting an enormous, horribly uncomfortable erection.

Which he was not allowed to touch.

_Shit._

ooOOOOoo

Snape woke to the sound of an evil cousin of the Hogwarts Express barreling down on him.

It took him all of five seconds to remember where he was and another five to understand what he was hearing.

Merlin’s tiny tits, that was Weasley!

He lobbed a pillow at the redhead, then sat up in bed, blearily wondering why he seemed to be looking out through a half dozen of Sybil Trelawney’s gauzy scarves. He stood, took a single step forward, and tripped over a stack of books and fell on his arse.

“Weasley!”

A head-sized blurry red blob appeared in his line of vision.

“Geez, Harry,” it said in a sleep-rough voice. “Put your glasses on, you moron.”

The pillow sailed back at him and he deflected it - not knowing the menacing projectile was non-threatening - with a wandless _Reducto._ The pillow burst into a blizzard of feathers.

“What do you think you’re doing?” hissed Weasley. He crawled out of bed and pressed something - ah, spectacles - into Snape’s hand. “You’re not supposed to _do_ that in front of people, Harry!”

_Ah. Interesting. Very interesting. Harry Potter doing wandless magic? The brat was just full of surprises, wasn’t he?_

“Yeah - sorry,” Snape covered. “I was still half asleep, I guess.”

Weasley gave a low whistle. “And _that’s_ what you can do half asleep. You really should talk to someone about this, Harry. Hermione’s right.”

Yes, Mr. Potter. You certainly should.

“Let it go, Weas….” He stopped, realising that Potter called his best friend Ron.

“And stop it with the Weasley business.” Weasley cuffed him on the side of the head with the remnants of the ticking.

Five minutes later, as Snape stepped into the shower, he allowed himself his first thorough examination of Harry Potter’s body. He couldn’t see it to save his life without his glasses, but there was nothing left to the imagination as he washed with a well-soaped flannel.

Potter was definitely fit.

A bit thin - but then, who wasn’t after what they’d been through the past couple years? Firm and sculpted thigh and calf muscles - expected after all that Quidditch and a year on the run. The shaved pubic area was interesting - he’d quite enjoyed the experience of having Poppy shave it to expedite the jock itch cure, mainly because he knew Potter would be humiliated when he got his own body back. He spent some time running a soapy hand over the nearly smooth skin there, ignoring the erection that had plagued him since he found himself on the dorm room floor - ignoring it, at least, until he finished this initial exploration. 

Buttocks - ah. Firm. Round. Pert. Perfect. He felt a pang of envy for those buttocks, and for the hours he spent wriggling on a chair with his angular posterior, trying to get comfortable. He’d not need a cushion with these buttocks. With a stab of regret, he realised that he couldn’t - not in good conscience - explore any further there, but felt an equal sense of pride and control that he _did_ have his limits.

Finally, with pectorals clean, and after squinting at the very scant body hair, he allowed himself a cursory feel of the cock and balls that were making their demanding presence known.

Oh. 

Nice. Very nice indeed.

He ran his hand down the average length, then encircled it with his fingers, judging it to be a bit larger in girth than his own, but significantly shorter. Potter was uncut, as were most wizards, and his bollocks were quite nice indeed, nearly symmetrical, full and plump.

Snape soaped up his hands and went to work, taking his time to work himself - really, it was his brain involved even if it was temporarily lodged in Potter’s body - slowly. He leaned against the wall when his knees grew weak, and barely managed to stay upright when he came.

And came. And came and came and came.

Sweet Morgana - it was as if Potter had been holding it in for months!

He reveled in the languid feeling for all of five seconds before the shower curtain was pulled open with a triumphant jerk and a loud “Aha!” to reveal a grinning Weasley and Longbottom.

“I knew it! I knew you couldn’t keep it up much longer!!”

Weasley was practically dancing. “I win I win I win I win!” he exclaimed as Snape attempted to pull the shower curtain shut.

“Gee, Harry - I really thought you’d hold out. Two whole months without wanking and you ruin it for a jerk off in the shower. You _know_ he’s keeping tabs on you in here.” Longbottom stopped, and squinted at Potter’s midsection. “Doing a little manscaping there, Harry?” he asked, grinning.

“Manscaping - what?” Weasley stuck his head back in and Snape gave up trying to cover himself. Weasley gaped. “Your pubic hair is gone!” he exclaimed. 

“Of course it’s gone - Madam Pomfrey shaved it!” Snape exclaimed. “I had a horrible case of jock itch and she said it would heal faster if she could apply the potion directly to the skin.”

Weasley grinned evilly. “You know what this means, don’t you? You lost the bet and you have to run naked through the Great Hall with no pubic hair!”

Snape stared at Weasley bug-eyed, but then realisation dawned and he hid a grin behind a casual shrug of his shoulders.

“Fine. Tonight at dinner. Now let me finish my shower.”

He yanked the curtain back in place.

“I can’t wait to see Snape’s face!” Weasley said, apparently to Longbottom, as their voices faded away as they left the bathroom. 

Snape stood under the hot water, shaking his head.

What the hell kind of bet was that? A bet about who could hold off masturbating for the longest? Who _did_ that?

And oh, my - he _itched_ to run Potter’s nude body through the Great Hall while Potter was sitting with _his_ body at the head table.

Yes. Yes, indeed. He’d spend today as Potter, sitting in on his classes, checking up on his professors. 

But first - a quick visit to his office and quarters to give Potter his marching orders for the day.

ooOOOOoo

Harry really wanted a wank.

It has been so long - nearly two months. He had several reasons not to do it - Snape, after all, had forbidden him from touching the equipment. And secondly, he wasn’t really sure if wanking in Snape’s body would negate the bet. He _really_ did not want to streak through the Great Hall. 

If he wanked in Snape’s body, maybe he could streak through the Great Hall as Snape and explain it all to Ron later.

 _From your coffin_ , he reminded himself. _Snape will kill you._

He sank into the glorious warm and soapy water of the headmaster’s bath - one nice perk of being trapped in Snape’s body. The bath was nearly as large as the prefect’s bath, but had the added benefit of being one hundred percent private. 

“Professor Headmaster Sir!”

Harry started, sliding off into the water from the ledge where he was sitting and coming up with a foamy mustache.

“Sir Headmaster! You is to call Serafina to help you into the tub. You is not to get light-headed and slip and fall. Madam Miss Healer Pomfrey is telling me to assist you!”

Harry watched, aghast, as the elf summoned a soapy flannel and began running it over his back in a circular pattern, giving him a very effective and surprisingly pleasant massage as she washed his back.

Damn, that felt nice. 

His shoulders were sore and achy, and he soon relaxed into the feeling of the elf’s strong and knobby fingers working his muscles. The elf finished washing and massaging his back, then moved on to his shoulders, then re-soaped the flannel and began to meticulously wash his chest, working the cloth around his nipples and prodding into his belly button.

He’d never dreamed that the headmaster received such special services from the house-elves. This one was incredibly proficient at bathing and he dropped his head forward gratefully as she began massaging the back of his neck.

The luxury was abruptly cut off when a roar of “Potter!” rose up from the door.

The fingers on his neck froze, and the house-elf gave a throttled yelp.

“That will be all,” Harry managed. “Um - Cherabina.”

“Serafina,” growled Snape.

“Mister Headmaster Snape sir - there is a _student_ in you’s bathroom! Mr. Harry Potter defender of the house-elves is here - and you is naked in the bath!”

“Right. Yes. He - he - um - “ Merlin - how was he supposed to explain Harry Potter in his bathroom? “He’s here to serve detention.” Yes. Brilliant!

Judging from his face, however, Snape didn’t think this particular explanation of his presence was brilliant at all. 

“Detention!” shrieked the little elf. “Is Harry Potter to wash your body? Is Harry Potter to use the stone on your callouses and pluck the hairs from the mole on your neck?”

Harry’s hand instantly went to the back of Snape’s neck, feeling for the hairy mole, as Snape-in-his-body strode forward to the edge of the tub and glared. Harry used his other hand to pull some floating suds toward him to cover his genitalia.

“Yes - yes. I’m sorry, Serabina, but you’ll have to leave now. Potter here will take over now.”

The elf moved to the side and bowed long and low, looking at Snape-in-Harry’s-body as if trying to convey both sympathy and revulsion at the task at hand. She straightened, chanced one last glance at Snape in the bath, then popped away.

“Um…” said Harry-in-Snape’s body.

“Detention?” roared Snape. “In my private bathroom? Are you insane, Potter?”

“What was I supposed to say? How would _you_ explain a student walking into your bathroom?” Harry retorted.

“I wouldn’t! Students do NOT walk into my bathroom!”

“And how did you get in here? I didn’t give you the new password!” Best to deflect by changing the subject.

“I used the emergency password,” growled Snape. “The back door.”

“The back door?” asked Harry, puzzled.

“There’s always a back door, Potter. Now get out of the bathtub and get down to the Great Hall for breakfast. You will eat breakfast, complain of residual stiffness, and retire to your room for the remainder of the day. Serafina will bring you your meals. After the evening meal, I will return to my office and we will sort this situation out once and for all. You will practice _all day_ opening your mind and ridding yourself of whatever Occlumency block you erected during your days meandering about England with Granger and Weasley. You….”

“Meandering about England?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Did I make light of your camping holiday?”

“Camping holiday??” Harry stood up in the bath, dripping wet and naked, any trace of modesty floating away like the fading suds. Unfortunately, he was not at all as menacing as he wanted to be.

But Snape didn’t answer. He was staring at Harry’s cock, which was sticking out at a proud ninety-degree angle.

“Getting off on an elf massage, Potter?”

Harry looked down. He was surprised that Snape’s presence hadn’t wilted his erection. In a streak of mad rebellion - who was Snape going to tell, after all? - he turned, bent over, and mooned Snape. _That_ would probably put him off food for a while.

“Oh - pardon me. Dropped the soap,” he said as he climbed out of the tub and covered himself with a towel. The towel tented forward around his cock as he turned to face Snape.

“A reminder that you are not to touch that,” Snape said, as he contorted Harry’s generally pleasant face into a disapproving frown.

“Right. Don’t touch the tackle,” Harry repeated. He had been trying to puzzle out why he was so hard from a house-elf rub-down. Was it his brain or Snape’s body that was responsible for his arousal? He rather hoped it was Snape’s body. He didn’t remember ever having had a sexual reaction to a _house-elf_ before, and it would take gallons of mind bleach to erase the very idea from his head.

He had an idea this was going to be a bad day - a very bad day indeed.

ooOOOOoo

The Great Hall was crowded at breakfast, and Snape took a seat at the Gryffindor table between Hermione Granger and Ginny Weasley. He was somehow not surprised that each of them managed to press their thigh against his, and Weasley rubbed the small of his back and whispered in his ear that she hoped he’d been thinking about her proposition.

“Don’t worry about anything, Harry. Neville really, really wants this, too.”

He nearly gagged on his beans and toast.

He glanced over at Longbottom, who smiled and blushed. 

Interesting. Especially given that Granger’s thigh was still comfortably pressed against his own. He managed not to squawk when her toes - her _bare_ toes, mind you - ran up his calf and toyed with the idea of suggesting to Ginny Weasley that they make it a foursome.

He watched Potter at the head table - eating with far, far more gusto than was proper for a headmaster. He kept shoveling beans into his mouth, following each spoonful with a half piece of toast. “Look at Snape wolfing down those beans,” laughed the other Weasley.

“He’s got egg on his chin!” hissed Ginny Weasley. “He doesn’t even have his serviette in his lap.”

“Perhaps the Bludger he took to his head affected his metabolic rate,” Granger posited. She sounded worried, a stark contrast to the rest of the table, which was very obviously amused.

They watched as McGonagall leaned in and said something to Snape. Snape hurriedly picked up his serviette, wiped his chin, and placed the cloth in his lap. He then spread a half an inch of strawberry jam on a piece of toast and shoved it in his mouth.

Snape fumed. He was going to have to kill Potter once he got his body back from him. Obliviate him first, _then_ kill him.

The noise at the table grew as the meal drew to an end and people began collecting their things and scooting benches around. Snape almost missed the commotion at the end of the Gryffindor table closest to the head table. It was full of first and second years - and all of them were laughing and screeching at the same time. The noise was nearly unbearable.

“What’s with them?” asked Thomas, craning his neck to see.

“Snape farted!” someone called down. “He pushed his plate back, stood up and let one rip!”

Snape’s eyes immediately shot up to look for Potter, but the idiot was hurrying away, robes flying out impressively around him and students giving him an extra-wide berth.

Snape’s day got better when he decided that paybacks were appropriate.

He collected twenty points for Gryffindor in Potions, and got rid of them all plus five more in Transfiguration by drawing a picture of Minerva as a cat humping a house-elf and passing it to Weasley while she was watching. 

In Care of Magical Creatures, he volunteered to help Hagrid after class every day the following week - he needed help shoveling thestral manure into buckets and spreading it by hand over his newly tilled garden.

And finally, in Herbology, he aced the surprise quiz then, in a feigned spontaneous reaction, kissed Pomona when she returned his graded parchment.

They’d be talking about that in the Gryffindor common room for weeks.

By the time dinner rolled around, he’d managed to put Potter - alone upstairs in his quarters - out of his mind for most of the day. He’d heard children giggling in the corridors, passing along the story of the Headmaster’s Fart, but he’d one-up Potter with the greatest performance the Great Hall had ever seen.

Well, the _second_ greatest, anyway.

He ducked into the trophy room and waited for the Great Hall to fill up, then removed his clothing. Weasley stuck his head out the door, gave the thumbs up, and Snape, feeling oddly self-conscious even though it wasn’t _his_ body on display, jogged to the door.

It was over quickly - considering the size of the Great Hall. He did a slow counter-clockwise loop, keeping up a moderate jog that kept everything jiggling and shaking. By the time he was halfway up along the Gryffindor table, people were clapping in unison and Professor McGonagall was standing. He rounded the corner and started to jog along the head table, ignoring McGonagall’s command to “Stop right there, Mr. Potter!” Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin. He rounded the corner again and made his way, running full-speed now, to the door. He could hear the Slytherins - wolf whistles, cat calls, laughter. 

He made it back to the trophy room before the Great Hall suddenly grew quiet. He’d managed to get his pants back on and was standing there in his briefs when Minerva appeared in the doorway, her face very, very grave.

“Congratulations, Mr. Potter. You have just lost 100 house points and earned detention with Professor Trelawney this weekend. As for the remainder of your punishment, we’ll let the headmaster decide, won’t we?”

Snape looked at the floor, grasping his hands behind his back to prevent rubbing them together with glee.

If he expected she would let him dress before she hauled him up to his office, he was sorely disappointed. Five minutes later, he was standing in front of his own desk, and Potter was sitting behind it, eyes virtually popping out of their sockets as he listened to Minerva and stared, open-mouthed, at his own nearly nude body.

Potter, Snape knew, was in a difficult position. House points taken away would be taken from his own house. Detentions would have to be served by himself, once he got his body back. He was probably trying to kick his feeble mind in gear, and was totally stymied.

“That will be all, McGonagall,” Potter said. He turned to Snape as Minerva snapped,

“Please use my title in front of the students, _Headmaster_ ”. She looked truly affronted, but paused with her hand on the doorknob as Harry doled out his punishment.

“You will begin to spend three evenings a week with Draco Malfoy to make a house unity plan. You will meet in private until your plan is approved by your heads of house. At that time, a committee will take over and you will be free to hate each other again.”

Snape’s mouth fell open. Potter - Potter was thinking like a _Slytherin!_

From the doorway, Minerva voiced her approval. “Very good, Headmaster. I’ll meet with Professor Slughorn today and we’ll make sure we monitor the assignment. Rest assured that this very appropriate punishment will be carried out.”

The door closed behind her.

They stared at each other for a full minute.

“Can I _please_ have my body back?” said Harry at last, dropping his head heavily onto Snape’s desk. 

When Snape didn’t answer, he looked up.

Snape was staring right at him.

“Legilimens,” he said in a low, threatening voice.

And once again, a moment later, Snape was on the floor cursing.

“You need to relax!” he shouted. “You need to _concentrate!_!”

“Well, I can’t do either here in this office with all these headmasters staring at my back and this stupid hard-on I’ve had all day that you won’t let me touch! It’s making me crazy! My balls are about to explode - I mean _your_ balls! I swear they’re as big as watermelons! How do you even _move_ with these things? And are there supposed to be such big, ugly veins on your cock? They’re _pulsing_!”

When Snape thought back on it, which he did frequently, and with great pleasure, often while he was having a nice soak in his luxurious tub, it was all really quite simple. In fact, he never truly regretted what he’d come to think of as _What came next._. It was inevitable - predestined, in a way. 

Alarmed - truly alarmed at the description of his family bits, he’d immediately ordered Potter up to his personal quarters, pushed him down onto his most comfortable leather chair, pushed his knees apart, and knelt on the floor between them. He’d made short work of the buttons on the outer robes, and had unfastened the flies of the sensible trousers and freed the straining cock and balls.

 _His_ cock and balls. _His!_

And while Potter certainly was exaggerating in regards to the fruit they currently resembled, his bollocks were actually grossly swollen and there _were_ pulsing veins on the shaft of his cock. 

“What did Madam Pomfrey tell you? Please try to recall her exact words.”

“I don’t know!” moaned Potter. “I mean - she said to jerk off. Well, she didn’t say to jerk off. But that’s what she meant. And she said to wait a day at least, and if I didn’t, I could be impotent. I really didn’t think I’d still be in your body - I figured you’d have it all in control.”

“I do have it in control, Mr. Potter,” Snape said, deceptively quietly. 

Oh, how sensual it was to hold it now, to observe it from an outsider’s perspective. How deviant to think he was about to do what he’d longed to do since he was an adolescent but never had the physical dexterity to execute. Auto fellatio. An adolescent boy’s dream.

“Hands on the arms of the chair, Potter,” he ordered as he pushed one trouser leg down, noting that Potter was barefoot, then pulled the trousers completely off and flung them to the side. “I regret that you have to be involved in this, but I cannot trust you to perform the task adequately. The potential consequences are far too great to leave this task to chance, or to the fumbling efforts of a teenager.”

“I’m not complaining,” Harry said, a bit breathlessly. 

Snape could feel Potter’s eyes on him as he bent over the straining cock. He gently cupped the heavy bollocks with one hand and licked a bead of pre-come off the head of his cock.

 _His_ cock. Merlin’s rosy nipples, he was licking his own cock!

Potter jerked, nearly convulsing, moaning as the cock he was currently sporting was slowly surrounded by the wet warmth of Snape’s mouth.

Only not Snape’s mouth. _Potter’s_ mouth. Snape gave a moment’s thought to that - that Potter was seeing out of his eyes, inhabiting his body, but seeing _himself_ go down on what was certainly the largest, hardest and neediest cock he had ever experienced.

Snape sucked. He gently kneaded a swollen bollock. He moved his finger backward, brushing it back until Potter jerked and moaned even louder. His mouth descended over the engorged cock, stretching to accommodate the girth until the head hit the back of his throat and he nearly gagged.

“Oh fuck. Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck.” Potter was panting rather obscenely as his body, clad only in a pair of faded blue y-fronts, decided that it quite enjoyed what it was doing, and in all its teenage exuberance, was trying to rut forward against the chair to get into the action. Snape began an up and down motion, taking the cock in, swirling his tongue around it, then letting it slide slowly out before pressing forward again. Potter had stopped chanting obscenities and was keening in a pitch that should definitely not be coming from a post-pubescent body.

“Of fuck, Snape - that’s good,” he wailed as Snape grazed a finger backward again, then, figuring it was his own orifice he was abusing, pressed in to the first knuckle. Potter hit an even higher note and began babbling - something about wanting to come, and why wasn’t he coming, and it never ever ever took so long before, and Snape had better pull off or he was going to come down his throat and oh holy shit….

Hands grabbed hold of his head and fingers fisted into his hair. Snape, caught in the moment, lifted his head, locked eyes with Potter.

It was fortuitous, or cosmically predetermined, perhaps, that Potter reached orgasm at that precise moment.

Defenses down, mind open, body out of his control, Potter was an open book, and Snape barely had to _think_ the word Legilimens for the spell to lock in.

There was a rush of wind, the murmur of a thousand voices, an echoing scream and a feeling not unlike a Portkey yanking him away, his feet falling out from beneath him. His eyes closed - he couldn’t keep them open - and his body hummed pleasantly, his skin tingling. There was a lovely throb in his groin, and the most delicious feeling of weightlessness, as if he’d just experienced the most overpowering orgasm of his life.

Wait.

He opened his eyes. He was in his favorite leather chair in his sitting room, barefoot, robes parted, trousers and pants gone. His cock hung half-hard over his very tender bollocks. 

He blinked, attempting to gather his thoughts, to piece together where he was, what had just happened. His gaze wandered about the room, coming to rest, at last, on a prostrate form on the floor at his feet.

Potter.

Debauched Potter, wearing a pair of faded y-fronts and nothing else. Potter with his hand inside those pants, holding his cock, glasses crooked, a faint smile on his face. Potter with a thin trail of saliva running out of his mouth down to his chin.

Snape narrowed his gaze.

No. Not saliva.

The mental floodgates opened and Snape knew exactly where he was, and why he was there, and what had happened, and who he was, but most of all - most of all - he knew he had to cover his tracks.

He reached into his pocket for his wand, but it wasn’t there.

Potter opened his eyes.

They looked at each other for a long time, neither daring to move or to speak a single word. Finally, Snape cleared his throat.

“We will never speak of this,” he said.

A very, very relieved Harry Potter nodded his agreement.

**Nineteen Years Later**

“Auror Potter.”

Headmaster Snape stood and reached across his desk to take Harry Potter’s hand.

“Harry - please,” requested the other, settling into the chair Snape indicated and extracting a sheaf of parchment from the thick old-fashioned file folder he carried. He passed the stack over to Snape and settled back into the chair, crossing his legs and glancing around the room.

“Any questions?” Snape asked, riffling through the papers and apparently finding them in order.

“No - the contract was quite clear,” Potter answered.

“You can move in any time,” Snape said. He signed his own name to the contract and dropped it into a drawer. “I’ve arranged to give you a second bedroom for your daughter, but your sons are to stay in their houses.”

“Understood.” Harry leaned forward. “Look, Snape - I thought we might….”

Snape raised his eyes, looking displeased.

“I mean - I know we agreed….”

“What part of never do you not understand?” Snape asked, very quietly.

“Oh please!” Harry grinned, looking at Snape until Snape gave an exaggerated sigh, rolling his eyes. “It’s been what - twenty years?”

“Nineteen,” Snape corrected him. “And I have still not forgiven you for kissing Sybil Trelawney.”

“And I had a wonderful time shoveling thestral manure with Hagrid,” Harry said. 

“I had to fend off the advances of Penelope Fudge – only you would invite the former minister’s niece up to my rooms for private lessons.”

“Streaking through the Great Hall, anyone?” Harry challenged.

They shared another moment - Snape trying to hold back a grin and Harry smiling broadly.

“You ruined me, you know,” Harry said at last. “I never could get it out of my system - the thought of it, I mean.”

Snape raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Yeah.” Harry appeared to be gathering up his courage. “When things started to fall apart with Ginny, I kept thinking about - about it.”

“About what? Use your words, Potter,” Snape intoned, but there was a note of humour in his voice that encouraged the young Auror.

“Merlin, it was big,” Harry said. “I’ve never seen one quite so big since.”

“I see.” Snape picked up a quill and tapped it on his desk, then leaned back in his chair and gazed at Harry. “You are talking about my bathtub, are you not?” he asked.

Harry laughed. “Bathtub. Right. Yes - we can call it your bathtub if you’d like.”

“It’s still quite big,” Snape said after a pause.

“Is it?” Harry said. He caught the shining portrait eye of Dumbledore behind Snape’s desk and grinned. “Still functional as well?”

“Of course, though it doesn’t get the use it once did.”

“Oh - that’s a shame,” Harry said. “Perhaps I could help you out with that? Use it occasionally - give it a good workout?”

They exchanged another long, meaningful look, and at last Snape’s mouth quirked.

“Perhaps,” he said. “Perhaps indeed.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment here or at [Livejournal](http://snape-potter.livejournal.com/3611353.html), [Insanejournal](http://asylums.insanejournal.com/snape_potter/1562963.html), or [Dreamwidth](http://snape-potter.dreamwidth.org/865941.html).


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